


Love at First Punch

by Lycaste



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Offdensen experiences the brutality of going on a blind date set up by Pickles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love at First Punch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on LJ in Feb 2010

**Title:** Love at First Punch  
 **Author(s):** lilac28  
 **Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Nathan/Charles (with some hinted T/S)  
 **Summary:** Charles Offdensen experiences the brutality of going on a blind date set up by Pickles.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warning(s):** Shameless porn, some lulz, inconsequential minor OCs, some sentences ending in prepositions  
 **Word Count:** ~7000 (damn, how did that happen? I think it's a quick read though)  
 **Disclaimer:** I don’t own Metalocalypse, but I sure think it’s funny  
 **Authors Notes** Written for the "Love is Brutal" challenge on [](http://brutalbusiness.livejournal.com/profile)[**brutalbusiness**](http://brutalbusiness.livejournal.com/). My attempt at love, Metalocalypse style: Awkwardness, violence, dirty sex, and an appearance by the Tribunal. This is about as romantic as I get.

Set somewhere in the middle of Season 3. The story assumes that Charles is gay, and the band knows about it. (That's not too much of a stretch, right?)

 

_At the Tribunal Headquarters...._

"Gentlemen," Senator Stampingston addressed his colleagues at the latest Dethklok meeting. "We've received some disturbing news. In a televised interview last night one of the members of Dethklok made some.....revealing statements about their manager, Charles Foster Offdensen. You can see for yourself here."

The view screens behind him filled with the dour face of Nathan Explosion. The interview started innocently enough, with the burly front man talking of new tour dates and the renegotiation of their recording contract that never happened. However, things took a bumbling turn when the host brought up Dethklok's CFO.

"So, Nathan," the phony host began with a grating smile, "how do you feel now that your manager Charles Offdensen is back from the dead? That must be quite a relief to have him running things again."

Nathan stammered, clearly not expecting such a question. "Oh, uh, you mean Charles? Well, yeah, uhh.......he's really good at what he does. I mean, we could handle it. We _were_ handling it just fine but yeah, it's good that he's back......keeping our own money from us."

"Ha ha, that's great Nathan. Anyway-"

"Well, the thing is," Nathan continued, unaware that he had interrupted. "The thing is that Charles is like, really smart. He organizes stuff and understands everything. He's just....." the lead singer trailed off, eyes glazing over as they locked on something that existed only in his mind. "He's just amazing."

The interview ended shortly thereafter, when a piece of stage lighting fell and cleaved the talk show host in half.

"I don't see how this is a threat," General Crozier grumbled. His presence at meetings had grown increasingly rare, yet no one voiced their surprise at seeing him in attendance.

Senator Stampingston remained patient as ever. "It appears that Nathan Explosion has a crush on his manager. Our sources have confirmed that there's been unspoken sexual tension between them for years."

"So? Did you catch them passing notes during class, too?"

"This could have serious consequences, General. Here to analyze the situation is workplace relationship expert Professor Wolfgang Christian von Liebenscheitern."

A diminutive man plodded to the center of the room. He spoke in a high-pitched, clipped voice.

"The workplace relationship is an environment fraught with angst and social destruction. Working together creates a sense of camaraderie, yet it often can't sustain a legitimate relationship. Most start with a feeling of forbidden excitement, and then quickly spiral out of control into a vortex of public shame and thinly veiled contempt. Worse still are those that never get off the ground and just languish in a state we like to call 'quiet lust'. The psychological pressures and blue balls in this state are immense, until finally the situation resolves itself either with murder or a release of sexual energy so violent that it can fracture the very fabric of reality."

"My God," uttered Stampingston, the magnitude of the issue dawning on him. "What does this mean for Dethklok?"

"With their considerable powers, enough sexual tension between Nathan Explosion and Charles Offdensen could split this dimension apart, plunging it into chaos. At the very least, their public displays of affection could become extremely irritating to those around them."

General Crozier spoke again. "That's ridiculous. If that's truly a risk, we need to send a team in now to neutralize the threat. Otherwise we're just wasting our time."

"Do not be so hasty to dismiss this," Vater Orlaag countered. "The darkness unleashed from such a union could be very powerful."

"I didn't realize comparative match-making was one of your specialties."

"Gentlemen, please!" Stampingston interrupted them, groaning inwardly. _Not again. I wish those two would just start fucking and get it over with._

The whispered voice of Selatcia interceded, effectively quelling any future arguments. "We will allow Dethklok to experience the tension. For there is no conflict as bottomless.........as a workplace romance..........."

 

_Mordhaus........_.

Charles Foster Offdensen sat at the head of the giant meeting room table, struggling to keep his face impassive. So far he had managed to hold Dethklok's combined attention spans for ten minutes, a personal record. Unfortunately it was not to last, which left Charles listening to another "fantastic idea" from the boys.

"Think about it. A show in three dimensions. You could have giant three-dimensional wolves and goblins and stuff chasing people. It'd be totally metal!" Nathan was staring at him with what he insisted was a pair of 3-D glasses, but was really just a pair of normal glasses with a piece of blue and red construction paper over each eye.

"It'sh gonna be aweshome!"

Murderface was on board with the idea. As were Pickles and Toki. Skwisgaar seemed indifferent, although he took a brief break from fingering his guitar to pose a question.

"Does you gets to choose which dimenskions?"

Toki was bubbling with excitement. "Ja, of course! You just changes colors in da eye pieces!"

Charles knew an opportunity to hijack the conversation when he saw it, clumsy as the execution would be. He had saved one final item until the end of the meeting, when the band would be the least focused to be able to resist. "Speaking of colors, do you guys know what you're all gonna, uh, wear tomorrow night?"

Nathan took off the glasses. "What's tomorrow night?"

_Here we go._ "The American Metal Awards."

"We are NOT going to that." Nathan slammed his fist down on the table, voice reverberating throughout the room.

Skwisgaar readily agreed. "Ja, awards shows. Totally gay. I must have wons, like, every guitar awards ever. You don't needs to be there to accepts it."

"Well, Skwisgaar, unfortunately you do have to be there. All of you. A flying guitar at your last concert maimed one of the media mogul’s sons. His company produces this show and they want you boys to attend to boost ratings and promotions. If you don't go you're looking at a very, very expensive lawsuit on behalf of his son."

There were grumbles and protests across the table, as well as accusations that he wasn't doing his job by protecting them from lawsuits. Nathan, however, remained quiet, staring at him with those simmering green eyes that made Charles feel weak.

Before the attack on Mordhaus, Charles had lived in a state where he'd managed to compartmentalize his churning feelings for Nathan into something he could manage. He still felt powerful waves of affection for the man, still eyed his body with no small amount of inward drooling no matter how much weight he'd gained. Yet he could also still function, still do his job without that suffocating feeling in his chest every time he looked at Nathan.

Ever since Charles had come back, it had become harder and harder to ignore those feelings. He lay awake at night thinking of Nathan, of the allegiances he'd made and things he'd sacrificed for the band. Of how very fucking lonely he was, regardless of his true agenda. He hadn't even properly thanked the singer yet for saving his life, instead choosing to immediately don the well-worn facade of a robot in the hopes of protecting....something.

And Nathan? Nathan just stared at him a lot more than normal now. Silent condemnation, Charles felt, for leaving them alone.

"Look, I know these things feel stuffy to you guys but this is the easiest, cheapest, and quickest way to get rid of a very damaging lawsuit. It won't be so bad. I'm sure Dethklok will win something." Charles pulled out his trump card, "And you know, the after parties for these things are usually pretty neat. Lots of ladies and booze."

"Are you coming with us?"

Strange that Nathan would ask that question.

"Uh, yes, Nathan, I am." _Was that the right thing to say?_

"Ugh. Six guys? Sausage festival."

"Well, you can bring a date, Skwisgaar."

"We can all has dates?" Toki cast a not-so-subtle glance at the blond guitarist.

"Of course, Toki."

He was loath to admit it to himself, but Charles hated seeing Nathan on dates. Dates for Nathan usually consisted of both parties looking bored and awkward after a multitude of failed conversation attempts. Charles found it maddening to watch, frustrated by everyone's inability to understand Nathan on any level. Witnessing the singer's romances always gave him that nagging urge to have someone tortured or killed.

Thus he stayed as far out of Nathan's love life as he comfortably could, a goal made easier by the fact that Nathan seemed to prefer groupies to real social engagements anyway. Although ever since he came back from his nine-month self-imposed necessary death, Charles hadn't seen any groupies with Nathan at Mordhaus.

"Who're you gonna take, Ahfdensen?"

"Me? I wasn't...planning on going with anyone. I was just going to make a formal appearance with you boys."

"What? Thatsh's gay, man. Ow!" Murderface winced when Nathan punched his arm.

"Don't make fun of him for being gay."

Charles tried to ignore the predictable stomach flip that came with Nathan defending him.

"It ams beings a little gay. Goings on dates with five other guys with dates."

"Right!? I'm jusht shayin', you don't wanna be an eleventsch wheel."

"Dat is pretty lame," Toki agreed.

"Well, I suppose I could find someone, uh, suitable." Charles began mentally running the itemized list of single men that he knew. The disappointingly small itemized list.

"Don't worry, Chief, I'm gonna hook you up wit' someone." Pickles sported a smile that was downright evil. "I got the perfect guy in mind."

"WHAT?"

The room went silent, all eyes on Nathan after his one-syllable outburst.

"I mean...I mean who? Who are you setting him up with? That's what I mean."

Pickles' grin grew wider. "Dood, I'm naht tellin'. It'll spoil the surprise."

"Pickles, I really don't need you to get me a date. I'm perfectly capable of-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Ahfdensen, I'm sure you could get a robaht date, but I'm gonna set you up with someone you've always wahnted."

"Oh, who's that?" A pit of dread knotted in Charles' chest.

"You'll see."

_Just resign yourself to this being a total disaster and try to keep the human casualties to a minimum._ With that plan formulated, Charles gave in before the matter of his date blossomed into an argument that he just didn't have time for. "Fine, Pickles. Just promise me one thing."

"Whaht's thaht?"

"Promise me you're not setting me up with Dr. Rockzo."

The table erupted into laughter. Even Skwisgaar emitted a bored chuckle.

"Da robot has a sense of humoring!"

"Oh man, don't shet him up with the clown, Pickles. He'sh gay but he'sh not that gay. OW!" Murderface rubbed his arm. "Shtop hitting me!"

"I told you, don't make fun of him for being gay." Nathan fixed Charles with a sly smile. "Make fun of him for wearing that suit."

Charles' stomach flipped for the rest of the day.

\-----------------

The next day passed in a flurry of meetings and paperwork, Charles still not fully caught up with his old life even after months of being back. He was able to lose himself in work until the sun went down, at which point he began dressing for the evening. The clean lines and fine fabric of his tailor-made suit covered the half dozen knives he kept on his person. Sure, there would be a team of Klokateers on them the entire evening, but one never could be too careful when it came to a Dethklok night out.

He was fully dressed and relaying orders to the snipers who would be following them when Pickles sauntered into his office.

"Ahlmost ready to go dere, Chief? Yer date's waitin'."

As much as the band didn't want to go to the American Metal Awards, Charles wanted to go even less. An evening of watching Nathan with someone else while he was on a blind date arranged by Pickles was not his idea of a good time. _Think of lawsuits. Paperwork. The legal expense accounts growing to unequaled levels._

"All right, Pickles. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Pickles led him down the huge hallways with one arm slung over Charles' shoulder. He reeked of booze, and had that conniving look that Charles had learned to associate with trouble. Not a good sign.

"Yer really gonna like this guy."

"I look forward to meeting him."

"Thaht's great, Ahfdensen. I'm glad yer, you know, keepin' an open mind about this. Just remember..." Pickles stopped him in his tracks, meeting his eyes with a look of drugged madness so intense that it had looped back around into sanity. "Jealousy is the most metal emotion. Ever."

"What do you mean by-"

Pickles shoved him around the corner. "Okaaay....heeeeere he is! Charles Ahfdensen, Dethklok manager, meet the music critic from Easy Listening Magazine, Ethan Implosion."

Charles felt a hot flush that bordered on panic. _Fuck_. Pickles knew. How had the oblivious stoner figured it out? _Oh God, this is mortifying._

The man in front of him was tall and broad with stony features and a large nose. He was definitely good looking, but what was most striking about him was his hair. His black silky hair that went almost to his waist.

He bore an extremely strong resemblance to Nathan Explosion. Charles could only stand there stunned, embarrassment broiling below the surface. For a man so used to being in control, he was completely at a loss.

Ethan put out his hand and flashed a winning smile. "Charles, I've heard so much about you. So the man behind Dethklok is as handsome as he is successful, I see." He was practically leering at Charles. "Pickles tells me that you went to law school. Where was that?"

"G-Georgetown. Excuse me." Charles cleared his throat, willing his voice not to waver. He took the professed hand and attempted a firm shake.

"Georgetown? Excellent. I'm a Brown man myself. Figured if it was Ivy League no one would care if it was just liberal arts." He laughed. "Am I right?"

Charles' palms were sweating. "Heh, of course."

Pickles steered them both towards the main entrance. "I knew you two would get along. Oh look, there's the guys. Hey, Toki. Hey, Nat'an."

The rest of the band had assembled in various suits and tuxes with their dates. Skwisgaar was with his three current favorite groupies, two identical twins that looked like they just stepped off a runway and one elderly woman named Hilda. Charles recognized the scantily clad woman who draped herself on Pickles as a guitarist from an all-girl metal band. Murderface was with an attractive woman who looked as though she longed to be elsewhere, no doubt a paid escort.

Nathan was next to an unfamiliar willowy model. Toki stood alone.

"Toki, where's your date?"

"My date ams meetings us there."

Skwisgaar scoffed. "Yeah, right. You couldn't even gets a date."

"Shut up, Skwisgaar!"

"Guys, let's try to get there without an incident."

Nathan's eyed his look-alike. "Who's this jackoff?"

Charles shot him a warning glance. "Nathan, this is my, uh, date. Ethan Implosion from Easy Listening Magazine."

"Easy. Listening?" Nathan looked as if he might throw up.

"Ethan Implosion." Ethan shot out his hand. "Great hair, big guy."

Nathan just grunted, and brushed past him without acknowledging him further. "This is Heather. Let's get this shit over with."

A forced smile graced Charles' lips. This was going to be a long night.

 

 

The ride to the awards show was a typically brutal affair, made even more painful by the inclusion of other jerkoffs. Toki and Skwisgaar wasted no time in bickering, while Murderface entertained his horrified female companion with all his plans for Planet Piss. Everyone except for Charles was in some sort of state of inebriation.

Charles soon learned that his date was similar to Nathan in appearance only. The man was a walking status symbol of pedigree and education, and jabbered constantly about his favorite topic, himself. Thankfully no one brought up the fact that he bore a disturbing resemblance to Nathan, but Pickles was shooting him evil smiles at every opportunity. Charles made a mental note to never again underestimate the drummer.

The group managed to make it to the show and into the event without incident. There had been three deaths outside of the building when a news helicopter fell out of the sky and onto some screaming fans, but three deaths around Dethklok wasn't what Charles would classify as an incident. When they made it to their seats without anyone getting into a fight, he actually began to feel hopeful about the outcome of the evening.

They all took their seats, with Nathan sitting on his right and his obnoxious date on his left. It seemed fitting. He and Nathan always wound up sitting next to each other. At meetings, awards ceremonies, public events. _We always seem to gravitate towards each other, despite the differences._

Whether it was practicing law or managing the biggest band in the world, for Charles it was all about the wins. He'd always felt that Nathan, as a front man and ex football player, could understand that. Could understand the intensity that had crackled between them from first day Nathan walked into his office.

"What?"

"Excuse me?" Charles was shaken out of his thoughts by Nathan's voice. _Shit, how long was I staring at him?_

"You look.....like you wanna say something. You keep staring. It's weird."

"Sorry, Nathan, I was just," he paused, "thinking."

"About what?"

Charles dropped his voice to a whisper, seeing an opportunity to be honest without being totally truthful. "About how I can't wait to be home."

"Shit, me too," Nathan not so quietly whispered back. "I was also thinking about how everyone's date kinda sucks. Except for Hilda. She's cool."

"Agreed."

"Especially yours." Nathan's eyes met his. "You can do way fuckin' better than that guy."

Charles was fortunately saved the stress of formulating a response by the dimming of the house lights and the start of the show.

 

 

The event turned out to be more interminable than a Dethklok family gathering. Like so many televised music ceremonies, the American Metal Awards were little more than a pandering display of self-congratulatory bullshit. People of all levels of sobriety preened for the camera, musicians played tamer versions of raucous songs. Acceptance speeches, however, were cut mercifully short due to the persistent heckling by the members of the world's biggest band.

Pickles and Murderface had somehow managed to become even more intoxicated, resulting in a barely coherent running commentary of everyone on stage.

"THAHNK GAHD? Yer a death metal musician....why'r ya thahnkin' Gahd?! Y'er supposed ta be brutal....."

"I know it. Itsh shad, ish what it ish. Itsh shad when people shell out like that."

Toki and Skwisgaar had erupted into their typical noisy arguing.

"Shuts up! My dates coming!"

"Ja, sure, Toki. I ams sure she is on her way in da magical flyingsks carpets."

"Shuts up!" Toki made no effort to lower his voice, despite the glares from other musicians near them. "You don't knows anythings! And it ams not a she, it ams a he."

Skwisgaar seemed taken aback. "What? You likes men?

"Ja."

"Wow....you never....really.....comes out and admits dat before."

Skwisgaar grew silent. Charles smirked. Maybe this would be the night that the Swedish guitar player noticed Toki's ceaseless efforts to garner his attention. Charles wasn't against a relationship between the two of them, although the drama would no doubt be endless.

For his part he was doing his best to remain detached. No easy task with Ethan's fingers drawing circles on the inside of his left thigh and Nathan on his right glaring daggers at both of them.

"I wanna go home."

"I know, Nathan. Soon."

"This awards show is stupid. I don't wanna go to any stupid fuckin' after-party. Let's just go."

Charles was always aware of the calming sway that his presence held over Nathan, something he never hesitated in exploiting. In a move designed to appear nothing other than professional, he put his hand on Nathan's forearm and looked him directly in the eye. "This is almost over, Nathan. They're going to announce the metal act of the year and then we can go."

Nathan shifted, and Charles could feel muscles tensing under his deadly fingertips. The dim lighting in the audience section gave the singer's hair a blue hue, wreathing his head in indigo fire. His eyes practically glowed, fixing Charles in a heated stare.

The large concert hall was stifling, all air forced out by the weight of Nathan's gaze. Charles couldn't breathe, too late in remembering the not-so-calming sway that Nathan's presence sometimes held over _him_. All that power, from a sullen, well-cut youth to a billionaire front man, directed right at him. Crushing him. Crushing his resolve to not get too attached.

A corpse-painted announcer took the stage. Dethklok didn't even notice. "And the award for the best metal act goes to........"

Nathan leaned closer, heat and alcohol fumes rolling off him, along with a looming sexiness that was making Charles’ head spin.

"Will you just fuckin' say what's on your mind? You're making me....it's like we're both here but, um, not. I can't take it."

"Nathan, I....I'm sorry. I never thanked you."

“For what?”

Onstage the announcer let out a triumphant growl after he opened the letter that contained the name of the best metal act of the year. "Well, we all knew who this was gonna be! The best metal act of the year goes to....."

And Charles couldn't help himself. Couldn't help dropping his voice to a crooning, honest whisper. Couldn't help the tremble in his hand on Nathan's arm as he continued.

"I never thanked you for saving my life."

"DETHKLOK!" The announcer roared from the stage. "Best metal act!"

Chaos exploded around them, complete with cheers and the flashing of camera lights. Pickles immediately stood up on his seat and started spouting a garbled acceptance speech. Before Charles could stand, his date sleazed into him and put a hand directly on his crotch.

"Congrats, Mister Manager. Looks like you'll be needing someone to help you _celebrate_ later."

If Charles had had any time to react, he would have removed Ethan's hand from between his legs. Yet even with his formidable reflexes he accomplished nothing before the locomotive fist of Nathan Explosion went sailing past his face, bypassing him completely to collide with the jaw of Charles' unfortunate date.

\-----------------

In typical Dethklok fashion, complete pandemonium erupted after Nathan punched Ethan. The bodyguards, fearful of another assault on their masters, started randomly firing into the crowd. Within moments the auditorium was a cage of blood, screams, and gunshot wounds. Charles immediately began ushering Dethklok to the exit, his date completely forgotten in the process. On the way out, Murderface tripped over an electrical cable, somehow managing to bring down half the stage lights. Flames soon engulfed the building, the night awash with the smell of burning guitars and the sounds of screeching tires.

The ride back to Mordhaus was awkward to say the least. Nathan wouldn't meet his gaze, which was just as well since all Charles wanted to maintain was a tight-lipped, stony silence. He didn't even bother to chastise, not with the other band members making loud, drunken excuses for Nathan's actions.

"Dat guy was dildos! Easy Liskening Magazines? He deserved it!"

"You don't jusht do that, man. You don't jusht grab a dude'sh junk on the first date. I mean, c'mon!"

"Sahrry, Ahfdensen, I thaght he was okay, ya know?" The look on Pickles' drugged up face indicated that he wasn't sorry at all.

"Wowee! Nat'an ams defending your honor, Charlie! Likes a metal knight!"

Charles spent the ride trying not to outwardly cringe, trying not to get too worked up over the implications of Nathan punching his date. Once back at Mordhaus, he threw himself into working damage control. He made phone calls, threatened the right people, and released a statement condemning the faulty lighting and security in the building. Nice guy that he was, he arranged to have Dethklok pay for all of Ethan Implosion's medical bills, and even sent a few hoodies for good measure.

Afterwards, he walked the halls for an extra hour as his head spun with theories and conjecture regarding the evening.

Nathan had punched his date. Nathan had told him that he could do better. Nathan had been acting weirder than normal since his return. And God help him, after their nine-month separation Nathan was looking better to him than ever.

All this ruminating brought him to his current location, standing in front of the singer's door, taking way too long to announce himself.

Finally he knocked. Charles Foster Offdensen was not a man who shied from conflict.

"Come in."

Charles entered. "So, Nathan..."

"Yeah?"

"What happened back there?"

Nathan wore his look of metal contrition, the one he only displayed when being scolded by Charles. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Charles sighed. "Do you have any idea what kind of damage control I'm going to have to do? This does not look good, Nathan. We were there to avoid legal situations, not create new ones. What have I told you about public events?"

"No punching people."

"That's correct. No punching people."

"I thought maybe that rule had, um, changed. You seemed pretty happy when I punched Damien what's his name."

"Well, ah, Damien was threatening you. And we weren't in public when that happened."

Nathan just stared, his whole aura radiating gloomy tension. Charles felt his throat go dry. Something between them had to be addressed. Yet for once, he had no idea how to talk about it.

"Nathan," he simply began, "are you okay?"

At that Nathan snapped, pushing himself off the bed to loom over him. "NO! I'm not fuckin' okay! This is...I don't know how to say it! It's all fucked up. You were, like, gone and we thought you were dead. Then you just show up, and we find out you were fuckin' lying to us for months. And you want me to just forget about that? Pretend it never fuckin' happened?!"

"Hold on. This is not about that. You know I can't tell you-"

"Fuck you, Offdensen." Nathan was so close, towering over him as he peered out darkly from a curtain of ebony hair. "I didn't.....I didn't know what to do without you. Every day was like breathing bloody bile. It was the most brutal thing I've ever experienced."

Charles' breath hitched. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"And then you came back. And now you're.....goin' on dates."

God, he could _feel_ the heat radiating from Nathan's chest. Pickles' words floated back to him. _Jealousy is the most metal emotion. Ever._

"I just thought, you know." The singer was mumbling now, "I always thought you were......"

"What?" Charles' heart was slamming in his chest. He felt weak, years of practiced placidity failing him.

"I thought you were mine."

All thoughts of propriety and professionalism were abandoned as he blurted out his response far too quickly. "I am yours, Nathan."

And then they were kissing, the dizzying moment giving way to years of repressed desire. For once Charles didn't analyze, didn't try to see the next ten steps into the future. He was simply swept along by the crushing ache in his chest and Nathan's warm mouth, hyper-aware of those huge hands pressing into his hips.

He'd dreamed of this. In quiet and neatly tucked away fantasies that he struggled not to admit to himself. Dreamed of Nathan sealing their lips together over and over, devouring him with urgency.

"You _are_ mine," Nathan grunted between fervent kisses, large bulk pressing Charles backwards towards the bed.

Could he really argue? After devoting so much of his life to Dethklok, to nurturing Nathan's music dream into something financially viable, could he really ever dispute that statement?

Oh _God_ it felt so sinfully good to release all the pent up bullshit through shamelessly making out. They were pressed tightly together, hands roaming all over each other. He could feel Nathan getting hard against him. Fuck, if the singer really did want this, could Charles indulge himself in something that he had longed for so deeply?

He ran his hands through Nathan's silk black tresses, marveling at how someone with such a crappy diet could have such soft hair. It slipped through his fingers like the most delicate of filaments. Charles couldn't help the faint sigh that escaped his lips.

Nathan grunted something unintelligible, put a hand in the center of Charles' chest, and shoved him onto the bed. Between wet kisses and sordid mutterings, he set to work in removing clothes.

He started with the tie, undone with a minor amount of awkward fumbling. "You can keep the glasses, but this has to go."

Next came the suit jacket, discarded somewhere in the room with an absent toss. The dress shirt was then torn apart faster than a protester at a Dethklok concert, popped buttons revealing the hard body underneath.

Nathan stopped, and for a disappointing split second Charles thought he had changed his mind. Instead he murmured, "Wow".

"Wh-what?"

"You're like, in really good shape."

"Oh. I, um, work out."

"I mean really fuckin' good shape. Holy shit I have let myself go."

Charles rolled his eyes and reached for the hem of Nathan's black t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. He laid an appreciative hand on the singer's arm. Sure, he had gained some weight but it was obvious he was still well muscled underneath. Still imposing and unique and fucking gorgeous.

Nathan delivered another searing kiss as he made short work of their pants. Charles' heart was slamming in his ribcage, dull thumps almost blotting out the sounds of masculine grunts and sighs. He smoothed his palms over the dusting of dark hair on Nathan's chest. Oh God, he was on fire, burning with the power and weight of what was happening.

And he wanted, oh how he wanted, to be released into that power. To wield and rule everything through acquiescence to Nathan's hot will. Those eager fingers all over him, wanting _him_ when they could have almost anyone in the world.

His boring underwear were torn off and unceremoniously discarded with a snort.

"Tighty whities, Offdensen? Really?" Nathan's eyes raked over his trembling body. "Nice dick though."

Charles had the decency to blush. "They're supportive," he offered lamely. Looking down, he watched the singer remove his own black boxers and although he had seen the other man in various states of undress over the years, he'd never seen that thick cock fully erect and ready. He licked his lips, pulse racing with nervousness and excitement. Years. He'd waited fucking years for this.

Nathan took himself in hand with a determined, sexy confidence and if Charles hadn't already been sprawled on the bed, his knees would have surely buckled.

"You think you can take that up your ass, Charles?"

The familiar use of his first name made his gasp. "Oh God, yes."

"Good." Nathan fumbled with his bedside table, knocking over his Dethphone and an alarm clock in the process. He managed to retrieve a small tube. "Mainly use this for jerking off," he said, as though he needed to explain the presence of lube in his bedroom.

The next thing he knew, Charles was being picked up and turned around, feet planted on the floor while his knees banged into the side of the bed. He suppressed a small yelp when a slick digit started probing him. Fuck, he was nervous. It had been a long, long time since he'd had sex with anyone. That didn't stop him from nearly shouting "yes!" when Nathan asked if he could take another finger.

Charles tried to focus on relaxing as Nathan moved his hand, perfunctory preparation for what was to come. It was far more intimate than he could ever recall, that slow relentless push inside of him.

"Man, you've got the most perfect ass ever. You like that?"

"Oh yes, Nathan, Nathan, _fuck_!" Charles' breath hitched as a third slippery finger entered him, a burning hot sting that made his vision blur. A strong hand was massaging comforting circles into his lower back, holding him still when the other hand turned to feel for his prostate. When it was found, Charles emitted one of the least dignified sounds of his life, a surprised whimper at electric delight.

"Oh yeah, Charles! Didn't know you could even make fuckin' sounds like that."

Charles was shaking. "Oh God, Nathan, don't stop don't stop. Please...."

"Please what? Please fuck you now?"

"Yes! Yes yes, I've wanted you to. So long now..." He struggled to support his weight with his forearms on the bed.

"Yeah, okay. Just, uh, relax and hold still."

The fingers were removed and Charles could feel something else hard and thick pressing at his tight entrance. He gritted his teeth as Nathan worked his way in. Slowly. Lusciously. Inch by delicious inch. God, he was big. He was big and it hurt and yet it felt so fucking good to have Nathan Explosion finally possessing him, to experience the vast strength of submitting oneself to the control of another.

"Okay?" Burly fingers raked through his short brown hair.

Charles only nodded, not wanting to hear the tremble that would most certainly be in his voice if he said anything. Nathan maintained his slow rhythm, and although "gentle" was never a word Charles would have used to describe him, the singer was being exceedingly gentle in his ministrations, as though Charles' firm ass was just another song to mold with slow perfection.

"Goddammit," Nathan growled as he sank himself to the root. "Oh God, that's good. Tell me.....tell me how that feels."

It was sweet. Oh so sweet to take that sensual voltage and give it back to Nathan at the same time. It was lewd and erotic and just fucking scandalous to have his client's huge cock stuffed up his ass.

"Tell me." A hand made a resounding crack against his exposed buttocks.

At a desperate, gasping loss for language he could only stutter out, "S-salacious."

Nathan stopped, puzzled. "Sala.....sal...what?"

Charles groaned. "Never mind. Just, ah, just fuck me."

Nathan didn't say another word, and the time for gentle was apparently over. He pulled back and drove in again, swift and brutal. Over and over thrusting hard and intense, driving Charles into the bed as he kept a white knuckled grip on the sheets. The weight of the other man's hand on his back only deepened the intensity of what they were doing, every point of contact adding a crackling sizzle. The hard cock inside of him, thighs pressed together, Nathan's heavy balls jostling his own.

Nathan was relishing this. Charles could feel it with every sharp thrust that brought their sweaty bodies closer. The singer leaned forward to mutter ridiculous, sexy nonsense in his ear and _God_. That was the angle he needed. The repeated jabs to that sweet spot inside of him that mingled pain with an electric fission of pleasure.

"Oh fuck yessss. Right there. Just like _that_....."

Nathan laughed. "Good, huh? Tell me it's good."

"Yes!" Charles wailed. "Yes, Nathan, So good."

"You're mine." He punctuated each word with a hard push. "You're mine, Offdensen."

"Yours. God yes, yours yours." It should have been mortifying, the uncharacteristic loss of control. The breach in his well-calculated veneer. It wasn't. It was only grinding and pleasure and a warm build of exquisite tension in his pelvis. His aching cock rubbed frustratingly at the bed sheets. God, he needed just a little bit more. More hot friction and needy pressure.

Nathan was picking up the pace again, the snap of his hips becoming more urgent and erratic. His every exhale a low rumble.

"Fuck, you're hot. Wanted this....."

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't see much with his glasses fogged and askew anyway. He'd wanted this too, wanted it so very badly. A familiar tingling was building up inside of him. "Oh, Nathan...."

"Charles. Charles, God, fuck, I'm close. I'm gonna come. You want that? You want Nathan Explosion to come inside you and fuckin' own you?"

"Do it! Own me, Nathan, please." He was getting closer himself, riding the boundary of fiery pleasure.

"Lemme see you touch yourself," Nathan growled.

Charles' hand flew to his neglected erection without a second thought, pumping himself with an enthusiasm he hadn't felt in years. Supported on only one trembling arm, his face plowed the sheets as he was bent over even further. Nathan's hand moved to cover his own.

"That's it," Nathan encouraged.

The last year of Charles' life fell away, lost to the heat of the moment and the delicious feeling of Nathan helping him jerk off. He wasn't used to feeling overwhelmed, to giving in to such intense emotions. Yet this was an itch he'd been dying to scratch, his desire for Nathan building for a long, long time.

He was getting hotter and hotter, like boiling water in a kettle about to blow. His breath was coming in escalating gasps, back arching and limbs tensing as he teetered on the edge. And finally so fucking good as the shivering tension traveled from the head of his leaking cock down deep within, exploding into pounding waves of pleasurable contractions. Spurt after spurt of euphoria rippled through him, passion and energy spiraling him higher and higher.

Later, Charles would have the decency to feel mildly uncomfortable about the things he yelled out as the pleasure train crushed him. In the moment, however, he just let himself enjoy the best fucking orgasm of his life.

Nathan seemed to be enjoying it too, his deep growl taking on an almost reverent quality. "Oh man, that's hot..."

Charles collapsed against the bed, unable to hold himself up any longer. His eyes were still in the back of his head as the last few pulses of ecstasy dwindled. And after years of being in control, years of meetings and contracts and cutthroat actions all culminating in his own death, coming in Nathan's big hand was just such an incredible _relief_.

Nathan was still driving fiercely into him, no doubt close himself after such a rare, wanton display. He was sputtering all manner of ineloquent, sexy nonsense. If Charles had been able to lift his head up and look behind him, he would have seen the singer's emerald eyes glowing a piercing red.

Instead he only heard Nathan make a desperate sound as he buried himself as deep as he could. " _God_...."

Charles felt flooding heat as Nathan pounded himself to completion. He was completely engulfed in Nathan's essence, from the veil of the singer's hair drifting over his back to the firm grip on his side. Scent and sound and sticky come wrapping him up in a gratifying haze.

A haze that was soon dispersed when the huge front man collapsed on top of him.

"Nathan, can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry." Nathan extricated himself with great care, and then lumbered on all fours over the bed to fall against a pillow. He was quite a scrumptious sight, all sweaty with splayed hair and a combination of pudge and muscle that looked so inviting.

After a few moments of heavy panting from both of them, Nathan eyed Charles with a growing mixture of suspicion and disappointment. "So, um, is this...is this weird now?"

It really wasn't. It should have been, but it wasn't. New and a little scary, yes. Insane, yes. Perhaps a little stupid considering he'd just fucked his client, one of his boys, without a condom. Although he had seen the results of every doctor's visit and blood test that Nathan had ever taken.

Charles crept cautiously up the bed to lay down next to him. "No, Nathan, a little shocking but not weird."

"I just," Nathan struggled for words, "I just couldn't take it. Watching you with that fuckin' asshole. Your date. He wasn't good enough for you. It was like I was gonna lose you again or something."

Charles' heart skipped a beat. Perhaps Nathan cared about him more than he realized. The knowledge made his stomach flip in that familiar, embarrassing manner.

Nathan continued. "There was just something about that guy that really pissed me off. Can't put my finger on it."

_Maybe it was the fact that he looked exactly like you?_ Charles didn't voice the thought, once again making the age-old decision of 'what a member of Dethklok doesn't know won't hurt him.' Instead he inched closer to that warm body.

"God, it's so not metal to say this but you're, like, special, okay?"

"Okay." Charles could feel months of tension unwinding with Nathan's simple confession.

Nathan pulled him closer. "Hey, let's keep doing this. Just you and, um, me. Nobody else."

"Yes, Nathan." Charles nestled his head into the singer's broad chest. "Let's do that."

 

Outside Nathan's room, Pickles had his ear pressed so hard against the door that his head was starting to hurt. It was certainly worth the pain, he hadn't enjoyed eavesdropping on sex this much since the early Snakes 'N Barrels days. _It's about fahkin' time._ He knew those two wanted each other, all it required was a push in the right direction.

Not that he cared about other band members lives, of course, he just wanted Nathan to stop being such a moody little bitch all the time.

"Pickle! Why ams you at Nathan's door?"?

Pickles whirled around. "Toki. I was jus'........lookin' fer somethin'."

Toki seemed uninterested, instead pointing to an unfamiliar man behind him at the end of the hall.

"My dates went to da wrong awards show but he meets me here."

The man Toki was referring to was shockingly beautiful. He had perfect skin, striking bone structure, long blond hair, and electric blue eyes that Pickles could see even from down the hall. He was impossibly tall, and even standing still he carried himself with the snobby air of one convinced of his own superiority.

Even in his highly intoxicated state, Pickles realized that the stranger looked like Skwisgaar. Exactly like Skwisgaar.

Toki's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I takes your advice. What you thinks?"

"Perfect, Toki. Fahkin' perfect. Skwisgaar's gonna go crazy."

Toki nodded, eyes wide as dinner plates. "Dat's what love is, Pickle. Peoples whats makes you insane."

"Thaht it is, Toki." Pickles flashed a devious grin, reaching behind his ear to pull out a crumpled joint. "Thaht it is."

 

The End.


End file.
